


none can tame

by taiyakeo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Short Story, arent you tired of being nice, dont you just want to go ape shitt, miss dorothea... your hand in marriage, my mind just screamed, well sylvain got what he wanted, when sylvain said "aren't you tired of being so stiff"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25504606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiyakeo/pseuds/taiyakeo
Summary: That day her voice was like bitumen, lodging like the stickiest tar in her throat. It was a bird--but a bird caged, ripping out its feathers, crying weak, fragile chirps instead of strong, steady notes. Still she tried, rubbing her throat with her hand as though it would fix anything, opening the cage's rusted door a crack wider.Dorothea is deeply afraid of losing all that she has, but time waits for nobody.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Peculiarity: FE Small Writer Zine





	none can tame

She should not have been there that morning. Not in the garden, not barefoot, not crouching before a metal pail. It was quiet, just enough that when she closed her eyes she could imagine herself back in Manuela's apartment before her grand piano, back drawn up in imitation of noble opera singers, letting song flow from her like water.

That day her voice was like bitumen, lodging like the stickiest tar in her throat. It was a bird--but a bird caged, ripping out its feathers, crying weak, fragile chirps instead of strong, steady notes. Still she tried, rubbing her throat with her hand as though it would fix anything, opening the cage's rusted door a crack wider. 

She heard a creak from behind her and jumped, kicking the bucket away from her so hard she knew it would bruise, feeling a flush creeping up her neck. She had been caught playing songstress again when everybody knew she would never be one again. It made her feel like a street urchin who had been caught stealing. She sat awkwardly in the grass, one leg up, skirt soaked through with the water she had spilled. 

"What've you got that pail for?" Sylvain peered over from where he was standing behind her.

"Prop," she said from between her teeth. "It's--It's a prop. For the aria I was trying to sing." 

He made an interested noise in the back of his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and grinning. "I think your voice is lovely. How long have you been singing for?" Lovely? What was he trying to say? 

"Since sun-up." 

"I meant as a career." 

She felt like a fool. "Ah. In that case, quite a while. Many years." She paused. "What are your intentions? Other than standing there like an idiot, I mean? Slacking, again?" 

"Ah--You've caught me. I wanted to hear you sing." His grin grew wider. "You're seriously so pretty, you know? In every possible way." 

How many times had he flung those words around? She wanted to throw the bucket at him.

"Mm. What else is new?" She clenched her jaw. “Leave, Sylvain." 

"Awww… You won't even indulge me a little? Come on… Aren't you tired of being so stiff? I see you going out with guys all the time, you--" 

"Shut up. Shut your mouth." She would have bitten clean through her tongue if she hadn't stopped when she tasted blood. "You don't know anything, Sylvain." 

" _Anything_ is a bit much, Dorothea," Sylvain said, beginning to frown. "I'm sure I know a little bit more than nothing…" 

By this point she was ready to sock him in the face, bucket or not. His stupid, stupid, always-grinning, insincere… "I'm sure you don't know anything," she barked. "You're always talking about girls, girls, girls, yes? And yet when it comes to girls you have zero tact, and it must be all you think about. 

"Therefore," she continued, "The natural conclusion that must be made is that you know nothing about anything at all. You don't even--You can't even think for the girls you're always flirting with. Pretty this, pretty that, but never anything about… Just you wait, Sylvain, till everyone around you is rotting and old and dying left and right and then you'll know better than to fill your head with--" She broke off before her voice did. "Goodbye, Sylvain," she said icily, and left.

*

Before she knew it, it was evening. She had spent the whole day fuming. She had wasted more of her youth being angry about how she was wasting her youth. How much longer would she be pretty? Her voice-- 

Fleeting, all of it was fleeting. She was worried she would never be happy. 

There was a knock on the door and she faltered, teetering on the edge of another spiral into seething.

"Come in," she said, and the door opened. 

Goddess. Sylvain. She regretted it already. 

"Dorothea…" He raised a finger as her mouth opened. "I'm sorry." It sounded sincere (for Sylvain, anyway), so she let him continue. "I mean… I don't know. Really. I'm sorry I made you angry. I'm, like, you know… I…" He floundered, fumbling with his hands. "I'm afraid people want me for my bloodline." The words sounded painful. "So I don't… Get serious. I know you think I'm a fool who can't settle down. Felix, he, uh, yelled at me this afternoon--"

"You… deserve it," she said, without malice, and watched him deflate. "But…" She stopped, and considered her words. Maybe it was better not to be angry. "I'm afraid people want me for my voice. That's why I don't like you complimenting me on my voice or my face."

"But they're both pretty--" 

"Sylvain."

"What? It's true. But it's not like I don't like your personality either. It's just so obvious. And it's creepy to be like, hey baby, I like your… beautiful personality." 

"It's called being nice, Sylvain." 

He paused, mouth open, and she laughed. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry for yelling at you. It's just, you know... when I was singing for my old opera company, they called me a falcon soprano. Are you familiar with the term?" He shook his head. "Well, just take it as a sort of soprano. Singing comes, and sounds, easy, but the voice is fragile and easy to break. You don't know when it ends." She motioned to her face. "I don't know when my beauty will end, too. It's… It's just hard thinking that's all people want me for. When I'm an old lady, who will I die with? I'll probably be alone on the streets." She laughed. "Sorry. That's a lot."

He shook his head. "I think I get it." He paused. His smile was gone, and the sadness in his eyes seemed sincere. "Yeah. I get it. I'm sorry, Dorothea." 

"Don't be sorry. Just--Truce?" She held out her hand.

"Truce." 

She liked how genuinely happy her friend's smile was.


End file.
